Ice Storm
by Calico
Summary: Set during the ‘Broken’ timeline; an early-year snowfall provides an idyllic family afternoon, but darker days are ahead.
1. Lessons in Diplomatic Relations

Title:  "Ice Storm"

Author: Calico  calico321@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Summary:  Set during the 'Broken' timeline; an early-year snowfall provides an idyllic family afternoon, but darker days are ahead.

Disclaimer:  DC Comics and the WB own the rights to Batman.  Duh.

Note:  This was inspired while I was writing 'The One Left Behind', but it is NOT a sequel to that story, nor is it necessary to have read it.  This is strictly some leftover stuff that fits in with the original.

2033

            The first snowfall of the year hit Gotham with a gusto usually saved for mid-winter storms and left the sprawling metropolis looking clean and fresh, if only for a short while.

            Outside the city limits, large estates became great expanses of urban tundra and on one particular estate set high above the others, a magical wonderland awaited five-year-old Isabella Wayne as she looked out the window upon awaking on a bright Saturday morning.

            She shrieked with glee at the mounds of fluffy snow and ran to promptly notify her parents of the overnight transformation from drab fall to dazzling winter.  After lunch, and once properly attired in snowsuit, boots, mittens, hat, and muffler, she was allowed to venture outside to bask in the splendid whiteness of it all.  Immediately she found a perfect patch of snow and fell to her back, scissoring her little legs from side to side and sliding her arms up and down.

            "Mommy!" she cried out happily.  "Come make a snow angel with me!"

            Mardi picked her way over and plopped down beside her perfect offspring.  "I'll try honey, but you're the only angel around here."

            Isabella giggled, then looked up at her father.  "Daddy, come on!  Your turn!"

            "I'm afraid I'm a little under qualified to make angels.  Maybe you'd like to help me make a snow man instead?" he asked with a playful grin that was reserved for his only child.

            "Alright!" Isabella agreed excitedly, leaping to her feet.  "And I get to name him," she declared as she began the task of collecting snow for the base.

            "Oh?" Mardi asked as she stood up and tried to brush herself off.  "Did you have something in mind?"

            "Yep.  Mortimer."

            Mardi and Bruce exchanged amused glances.  "Mortimer the Snowman?"

            "Yep.  We can call him Morty for short," she replied with all due seriousness, her attention never diverted from the job at hand.

            Unfortunately for Mortimer, his existence was never fully realized.  The battle started innocently enough – Mardi was packing snow together in her hands with the full intent of adding it to Morty's torso, but she caught sight of the back of her husband's head, so tantalizingly vulnerable, the perfect target actually…

            The snowball flew through the air and struck with a wet _thwap!_ sticking for a second before starting its downwards slide.

            Isabella gaped, her green eyes wide with amazed amusement.  He stood up slowly and turned around even more slowly and Mardi could hardly contain the huge grin that threatened to overtake her whole face.  She raised her now-empty hands.  "Honest mistake."

            "Mistake?" he repeated, face devoid of any telltale signs of emotion, but his own hands held a rather large clump of snow.  "I think that there have been entire wars fought that were started by nothing more than an honest mistake."  And now she really was laughing as he carefully formed the snow into an icy missile.  He looked down at Isabella.  "I think your mother needs a lesson in diplomatic relations.  Care to join me?"

            The little girl squealed with delight and reached down to scoop up a small handful of her own.  Mardi, realizing she was grossly outnumbered, fled towards a large elm tree, but not before a well-aimed ball nailed her in the back.  She yelped in surprise at the force of the direct hit, diving for cover as the onslaught began in earnest, and gathering her own pile of ammunition.

            But her stronghold did not last long as the two guerilla warriors divided to assail her from different directions, pelting her mercilessly.  Finally she called upon her secret weapon.  "Bella you little traitor!" she laughed and gulped for air.  "I'm your mother!  Besides don't you know girls have to stick together?"

            The words had the desired effect, as Isabella paused her offensive, and then with a huge grin started aiming at her father.  Mardi cheered at the turn of the tide and pushed in as well.  But the allegiance was fleeting and soon it was every Wayne for themselves, balls flying in all directions.

            Finally out of breath and nearly exhausted, Mardi signaled surrender by dropping to the ground, legs and arms akimbo.  She was half-buried before they agreed to the cease-fire.

            "Mommy!" Isabella called out cheerfully performed a belly flop right on top of the prone figure.

            "Oof!" Mardi gasped.  "Is this how you treat your POWs around here?  I'm sure this is a violation of the Geneva Convention."

            Isabella laughed as she rolled away and Bruce came over, offering her a hand up, which she gratefully accepted.  "Learned your lesson?"

            "Yes," she replied breathlessly.  "Cheat!"  In her other hand was a wad of snow and she swung it at his head with all her might, but he had anticipated her deception and moved out of the way.  As the momentum pulled her around to face the other direction he grabbed her from behind, pinioning her arms, and pulled her against his body.  "Blast it!" she exclaimed.  "I almost had you."

            "No.  You didn't," he calmly informed her as his strong arms kept her in place in a way she didn't mind at all.  Then his voice dropped and he said, "You are soaking wet.  I think you need to get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia." 

            "Oh?" she said as he placed his warm lips against her cold ear.  "Oh!"  She smiled.  "Nap time Bella!"

            "No," she grumbled.  "We didn't get to play King of the Mountain."

            "I'm sure the snow will still be here tomorrow.  Let's go."

            "But I'm not tired Mom-"

            "Isabella, don't argue with your mother," Bruce warned sternly before hoisting her up and settling her on his shoulders.

            "Giddy up Daddy!" she called out as they trekked up to the manor.

            Inside he set her down and turned to Mardi.  "I'll get her some cocoa and put her to bed.  I'll see you in a few minutes."  Nothing about his words or demeanor gave anything away, but she still she felt a tingle of anticipation.

            Upstairs she peeled of her soaked clothes and slipped on a thick cotton robe, using a towel to dry her hair.  Finally Bruce came in and stripped down to the waist, taking the towel from her and patting himself down.  "I think she'll sleep for a while.  She was out like a light once her head hit the pillow," he informed her.

            "That's good," Mardi replied watching his every movement raptly, marveling at the still perfect physique and self-assured manner in which he used it.  She had never lost that initial, mind-numbing desire for him, nor did she ever try to conceal it.

            He stepped over to her, releasing the robe's belt and letting it fall open.  His hands began to touch and explore and caress.  "I do believe you are suffering from a severe case of hypothermia," he declared.

            "Really?  What do you recommend for that?"

            "Prolonged, direct, skin-to-skin contact."

            "Mmm, that sounds like just what the doctor ordered."  And he spent over an hour following his own advice, warming every inch of her body.


	2. The Storm Hits

Three days later

            Bruce walked down Jericho Avenue like he did every weekday afternoon.  The prestigious academy was set back from the busy street, a tall wrought iron fence keeping a safe perimeter around the entire institution, with a vast array of monitoring equipment and security measures unseen by the average pedestrian.  The old, well-established primary school was full of tykes from moneyed families and every precaution was taken.

            Inside the borders, children ranging in all sizes and shapes ran around in various games or utilized the play equipment, most waiting for nannies or butlers to pick them up after a long day of learning.  

            Bruce paused and scanned the energetic horde for a familiar dark headed dervish.  Usually she was on the look out for him and would come running immediately upon his arrival, but for some reason she was nowhere to be found.

            Frowning, he went into the building and walked to her classroom.  The teacher, a young woman named Nina Cambridge, was grading an assignment as he knocked on her door.  She looked up and took only a moment to place him, smiling warmly in greeting.  "Mr. Wayne, what a surprise!  What can I do for you?"

            "I'm looking for Isabella.  She's not outside."

            She frowned and said, "That's weird.  She was called to the front office about an hour before class let out.  Maybe she's still there."

            He thanked her and walked to the far end of the building, a strange feeling of foreboding growing within.

            The school secretary's smile was far less welcoming than the teacher's had been.  "How can I help you, sir?" she asked with reserved civility.

            "I'm Bruce Wayne, I'm looking for my daughter, Isabella.  Ms. Cambridge said she was called down here this afternoon.  Is there a problem?"

            "Problem?" the woman echoed in a way that Bruce did not like at all.  She stood up and said, "You'd better speak with Mr. Kilbourn," and went into the office behind her desk.

            Bruce had met the man on several occasions.  He was tall and slender with thinning ash blonde hair and wire-rimmed spectacles.  His long strides brought him to Bruce's side in no time, one hand stretched out in greeting, and a smile perfected from dealing with Gotham's elite for almost quarter of a century.  "Mr. Wayne, Donald Kilbourn.  How are you doing today?"

            "I'll be better once I see my daughter," Bruce replied ignoring the hand entirely.

            "Yes, yes I can see how you'd be worried, but her mother picked her up over an hour ago.  I'm surprised she didn't mention it to you."

            Bruce blinked at him.  "So am I," he said wryly, pulling out his cell phone.  It rang almost five times before she finally picked up with a haggard greeting.  "It's me.  Did you pick Isabella up from school today?"

            "Oh heavens no!" she panted.  "I just barely got back to my desk.  The department head meeting went all day.  I thought Breckenridge would never shut up--"  She stopped for a hard moment.  "What do you mean did I pick her up?  Where is she?"

            "I'll call you back."  He hung up the phone. To Kilbourn he said, "What did this woman look like?  How did you know it was her?"

            The man paled and then turned a beet red.  "Well…well," he started.  "Mrs. Wayne has only been in a few times, but I remembered that…that…" he gulped.

            Bruce repeated slowly, "What did she look like?"

            "She was petite, dressed in business attire.  Short brown hair.  Glasses…"

            "Glasses?  My wife doesn't wear glasses," he said heatedly as he pulled his billfold out of his jacket, flipping it open to a collection of photos.  "Did she look like this?" he asked tapping Mardi's picture.

            "Oh, well there are some, you know, similarities, but I…I…"

            "Did she look like this, _exactly_ like this?" Bruce pressed.

            "No sir, she didn't," Kilbourn finally admitted dejectedly.  "Mr. Wayne, I am so sorry.  She was very convincing, and from what I recalled of your wife…"

            Bruce turned away from the man and started to walk out, when an idea made him go back.  He knew what he must look like, imposing, intimidating, the look designed specifically to chill the most cold-hearted criminal.  Kilbourn's mouth was slightly agape and his hands took an automatic defensive gesture, palms held out as if to ward off an attack.  "Isabella would have known that wasn't her mother.  How did she go with her willingly?"

            "Oh, well, you see, she said she would wait in her car and I was to bring the child out to her."

            "The car, what was it?"

            "Uh, red, sir, one of those new red hover cars.  The sporty ones."  Just like the one he'd gotten for her last birthday.

            "Did you notice the plate numbers?"

            "No sir," Kilbourn said, almost resolved to his fate of certain career death, if not actual death at Bruce's hands.

            This time he did leave, a thousand thoughts and feelings coursing through him.  His daughter had been kidnapped.  He'd dealt with hundreds of kidnappings and knew the statistics.  Forty percent.  The figure loomed darkly in his mind.  Only forty percent of kidnapped victims were successfully returned after payoff.  With their hands tied up in bureaucratic red tape, the police were next to useless in these situations.  He'd intervened enough times to know just how it worked. 

            Once out on the street his phone chirped and a quick glance at the caller ID confirmed his suspicion.  "It's going to be okay," he started.

            "Okay?  Where is she?  You just call up and ask me some question about whether or not I picked up Isabella and then hang up on me?  What's happening?"

            He swallowed and stopped on the street corner while a group of about a dozen people crossed.  "Someone came to the school impersonating you and took her away."  Where he expected loud vocalizations of anger he received only silence.  "Mardi?" he asked gently.  Her breathing came in loud gasps and he thought he heard a choked sob.  "It's going to be alright," he repeated vehemently.

            "She…she…she…Oh god Bruce this can't be happening!"

            "It is.  I want you to go home."

            "Where will you be?"

            "I'll be right there."  She hyperventilated a bit more.  "Mardi?  Go home."

            "I know, I am."  He heard one last sob before disconnecting.

            Reactivating the phone, he dialed another number.  "We have a situation."

            Barbara Gordon and three of the best officers from the Major Crimes Unit waited patiently in the study of Wayne Manor, ready to monitor and track the inevitable ransom call on the state-of-the-art equipment they'd brought with them.  Bruce was calm, cool, and collected on the outside as he sat at his office desk, but inside he was on a slow boil.  Mardi paced, bit at her fingernails, mumbled incoherently, and in general looked frailer than he'd ever seen her before, as if some vital essence had been sapped from her being, and Bruce supposed that was exactly what had happened.

            Outside another early winter storm raged, though this time instead of fluffy white snow, the heavens dropped a merciless freezing rain, coating everything without shelter in a cold icy shell.  Trees drooped from the weight and roads had become slick and deadly.  The rain tapped at the windows like an insistent visitor and the chill seeped around them unabated by the fire raging in the old stone hearth across the room.

            At precisely six o'clock, five hours since Isabella's disappearance, the call came.

            He put his hand on the phone and waited for Barb's signal.  On the count of three they picked up at the same time.  "Yes?" he said.

            "Mr. Wayne," a male voice, cultured and slightly accented, greeted him.  "By now I'm sure you're missing something very valuable."

            "What have you done with her?"

            "Your little girl is very safe, I assure you.  Shall we skip to the business end of this little ordeal?"

            "Let me speak with her."

            "No.  That's not possible right now."

            "Let me speak with her or I'm hanging up the phone."  Barb narrowed her eyes in displeasure but stayed silent; Mardi looked about ready to faint.

            "You are in no position to make demands," the voice told him, an emotional edge creeping in.

            "You want my money, you need my cooperation.  You get neither until I'm convinced she's still alive."  The cops in the room shot each other looks of skepticism, but they took their cues from their boss and stayed out of it.  Mardi collapsed into a chair.

            There was silence on the other end of the phone.  Bruce counted to twenty before the voice finally spoke up again.  "Very well.  Here she is."

            "Daddy?" the small voice came over the line and never had he been so happy to hear anything.

            "It's me, baby," he said softly, trying to keep the tension out of his voice for fear of scaring her.  "Have they hurt you?"

            "No," she said slowly.  "They said if I'm not good, they'll take Minnie away."  Minnie was her doll and constant companion.  Then suddenly she was crying.  "I'm sorry Daddy.  I thought it was Mommy.  I know never to go with strangers, but it looked like her car and…and…" she fell into incoherent sobs that grew distant as he imagined her being pulled away from the phone.

            "Are you satisfied now, Mr. Wayne?" the voice returned.

            "Yes.  Now what do you want?"

            "$250 million.  I trust that won't set you back too much?"

            "No," he responded flatly.  "Where do you want me to bring it?"

            "Not you, Mr. Wayne.  The currier will be your wife."  He frowned and looked at Mardi, who, sensing something was amiss, came forward and placed her head next to the phone.  Despite his better judgment, he angled it towards her.

            "Why?"

            "Quite simple.  You might be willing to sacrifice yourself, try some tragically futile heroics that could ruin what would otherwise be a flawless plan, but with your wife involved, I trust you will make sure my instructions are followed to the letter, for fear of losing two things most precious to you.  Do you understand?"

            "Clearly.  When and where?"

            "Not just yet.  You will be called in exactly twelve hours.  All will be revealed then.  That should give you sufficient time to get the money – unmarked currency of course – together.  And you should both get a good night's sleep, Mr. Wayne.  You're going to have a long day tomorrow."  The phone went dead in his hand. 

            He hung up and stood, pulling Mardi against him, but she didn't cry, only sighed very deeply.  "It's going to be fine, I promise."  He pushed her gently away.  "Why don't you go upstairs, try to get some sleep."

            "Do you really expect me to sleep at a time like this?"

            "Like the man said, tomorrow is going to be very long and very hard.  You'll need your rest."  He pulled a small medicine bottle out of his shirt pocket.  "Sleeping pills," he told her.  "Very low dosage.  Take one."

            "I can't."

            "Yes you can.  I need you at full capacity.  She needs you."  That seemed to do the trick.  She took the bottle from him.

            "What will you be doing?"

            "I'm going to call the bank about getting together the funds.  It shouldn't take too long.  I'll probably be there before you're even asleep."  The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, but he gave her a reassuring smile and smoothed her hair lovingly.  A final kiss on the lips sealed the deal and she left the room.

            With a look to Barbara, she dismissed the officers who were busy collecting the data received from the call.  They looked dubious, but did not question their superior as they filed out.  Alone she turned to him, "You can't do this."

            He had already stripped off his jacket and removed his tie.  He sat down at the desk and turned on the computer's monitor.  He had already booted up and accessed the Cray's down below before the cops had arrived.  "Do what?"

            "Let me handle this, Bruce."

            "Forty percent," was his only reply.

            "It's not as bad as that," she insisted.

            "It's unacceptable."

            Barbara sighed and returned to the equipment.  "They've traced the call to the northern docks, eight hundred block."

            "Eight forty seven," he told her, pulling up a map on his own monitor, a pulsing red light pinpointing the call's origination.  She looked up, remembering just how powerful the Batcomputer was.

            "Well that narrows it down," she smiled.  "Now we just have to get a swat team over there."

            "No," he said standing up.  "That's too dangerous."

            "Bruce," she warned harshly.  "This is not a good idea."

            Ignoring her he removed his dress shirt.  Underneath he had on a black T-shirt.  He was already wearing black trousers and boots.  From a briefcase he'd inconspicuously set next to his desk, he pulled out a black flack jacket and ski mask.

            "This is crazy," she tried once again to dissuade him.  "Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried something like this?  You barely made it home in one piece and had to be rushed to the hospital in cardiac arrest."

            "It was the suit.  It put too much strain on my body."  He zipped up the jacket and placed the cap on his head, not covering his face just yet.

            "But without it you're completely defenseless!"

            "Not completely," he replied.  "Besides, I'm not planning on engaging anyone if I can help it.  I'll locate Isabella, get her out, and then you'll send in the troops for clean-up."

            "It's too risky."  He didn't acknowledge her as he started placing various items from the bottom of the briefcase in the jacket's multitude of pockets.  She leaned forward on the desk.  "Think about it for a moment.  You get in there and all hell breaks loose, what are you going to do?"

            "She's my daughter, Barbara," he said looking directly into her eyes.  "I'm not going to play the what-if game and I'm not going to leave her fate up to the whims of these people.  They _took_ her from me," he said with feeling.  "If there was ever a time for me to risk everything for another person, it's now.  I will get her back safely and I'd like your help."

            Barb sighed.  "You have always been a manipulative, stubborn SOB."  He held out a hand to her and she noticed the small device lying in the palm.  With barely a hesitation she picked it up and put it in her ear.

            "I'll stay in contact and let you know when it's safe to go in."

            "I'll have a dozen units waiting at a distance of two blocks an any direction."

            "Good."

            He started to leave and she called out to him.  "Bruce.  If something does happen to you, what should I tell her?"

            He raised his eyes to the ceiling and briefly debated going up to kiss her goodbye.  "If something happens, tell her she married an old fool who never knew when to quit."  With one foot out the door he added, "And that I love her."  He pulled down the mask, now dressed very much like he did during his first attempt at vigilantism, and went to the garage, choosing an all-terrain jeep from the long row of rarely used vehicles, pausing long enough to add chains to the tires.


	3. Who I Am

            Wind whipped and the icy rain pelted angrily.  The roads were almost completely deserted as wiser Gothamites huddled together against the rages of Mother Nature.  The Safety Department had in no uncertain terms declared road traffic banned except for under the dire most situations.   Bruce couldn't imagine any situation more dire than this one.

            The jeep kept its tenuous hold on the pavement even as he pushed it above what would be considered safe speeds.  In less than half an hour he was a half block from the building in question.  He pulled into a dead-end alley and shut the car off, pulling a pair of heavy gloves from one of the jacket's pockets.  Outside he began walking.  Twenty, forty, sixty feet, then he was at the edge of the warehouse.  A fire escape led to the upper floors.  He reached up and hooked the bottom rung of the ladder and pulled it down, with a noisy clatter, pausing to see if he'd attracted any attention, but the storm seemed to provide more than sufficient cover.

            Slowly, one hand followed by one foot in careful succession, he climbed to the first landing.  The icy coating of the metal threatened to send him back to the bottom at any time if he made so much as a single false step.

            A darkened window awaited him at the top, which he pried opened easily and slipped in behind piles of unused furniture draped in white sheets.  Peering around he could see the light from an open door.  As he eased around towards the door the sound of footsteps could be heard drawing near.  He waited with his back to the wall as the steps came in closer.  A man in dark clothing and a long gun passed the open doorway without so much as a glance in.  When he was three steps beyond, Bruce darted out.  Two quick jabs to the kidneys and a final blow to the neck finished the job quickly and noiselessly.  Bruce dragged the body back into the storage room and covered it in a sheet, then went back out the door to see he was on a landing overlooking the much larger first floor.

            Deep in the shadows of the landing, Bruce hunched down to observe, but for a moment his mind wandered.

            _Who are you?_

            She had been so afraid when she'd asked him that, and so much more insightful than she ever gave herself credit for.

            _Who are you?_

            He wouldn't change anything about quarter century he spent in the pursuit of justice, though he had to admit a certain contentment had stolen over him these last few years.  Was it a trade-off?   One or the other?  Could he still be what he needed to be?

            _Who are you?_

            _This is who I am.  I will love, honor, and cherish you, but I will not sit idly by while my child's life rests in the hands of these people, _he thought._  This is who I am.  I just hope you never have to find out._

            Below him great metal machines dominated the floor.  When alive they would fill the entire building with a cacophonous noise that would force workers to use protection if they wanted to hear a word at day's end, but now they were silent and docile, looming stoically and casting shadows for the handful of lights that burned around the room.  The main overhead lights were extinguished.  

            From his vantage through a pair of binoculars, Bruce had a perfect view of the main office, where the foreman would watch out on his workers during the day through a large glass window.  The light in the office blazed brightly, and a man sat behind the desk in a shirt and tie, well-coifed blonde hair, and a woman sitting on the desk beside him.  Her back was to the window, so all Bruce could discern was her suit and brown hair.  As he watched the pair, though, she slipped off the desk and stretched, moving around the desk so her front became visible.  While they would never be mistaken for twins, he could actually see the resemblance to Mardi.  He wondered if they had attempted to locate a woman with similar features, or had an accomplice undergo cosmetic surgery for the occasion.  She reached up and adjusted the glasses that lay on her nose.  He shook his head in confusion, but didn't dwell on it.

            He trained his binoculars around the room, looking for a likely place to keep a small child.  The shadows hid more than the light illuminated.  Crates stacked randomly about, various doors, none guarded.  He supposed he'd just have to try each one if he had to.

            Movement in the office reclaimed his attention and he saw a third person had joined the pair.  This new man held a tray in his hands out for inspection to the first, who nodded and waved him away.  Bruce saw the tray held a plate with a hot dog on it, a small container of what was probably pudding, and a carton of milk: a child's meal.  He tracked the man as he left the office and walked over to a bank of thick metal doors with horizontal levers instead of knobs.  Refrigeration units, no way in or out accept for the door.  On a keypad next to the first door, the man entered a four-digit code that Bruce memorized easily.  He pulled open the door and walked in, leaving it slightly ajar.  Time ticked away at a miserably slow pace as Bruce waited for the man to exit.  Terrifying thoughts plagued him knowing a stranger was alone with his daughter, but he kept his place in the shadows.  Just because he hadn't seen any more gunmen didn't mean they didn't exist.  Finally he came out and resealed the door, and Bruce let out a sigh of relief.

            Once the man had gone back into the office, Bruce dropped down from his hiding place, landing on a crate and using adjacent piles as steps until he hit the bottom, then he moved about between the machines and boxes until he came to the bank of doors.  He entered the code into the keypad and the light on top blinked from red to green with a pleasant beep.  He pulled on the handle and it opened easily.  The temperature was cool, but not dangerously frigid.  Air circulated through a register at the top of the room that was essentially a long steel box.

            A cot had been set up at the back and he saw her small body curled up under a blanket snoring softly.  A lamp sitting on a box used as a makeshift table provided light.  Next to the lamp was the tray.  Only a few bites had been taken out of the hot dog and the pudding remained untouched, but the milk had been completely drunk.  He went over to her and shook her lightly, calling out her name.  She moaned a bit and then settled back into her sleep.  Bruce frowned as he shook her even harder, eliciting no more response than before.  His frowned deepened as he picked up the milk carton, sniffing it lightly.  The acridness of the drug was barely noticeable, but detectable nonetheless.  He didn't allow himself the luxury of anger as he scooped her limp form into his arms, making sure her doll didn't fall out of her grasp.

            Outside the unit he stopped and listened.  Satisfied no one had been alerted to his presence yet, he began his way back through the maze.  Sharp footsteps caused him to stop halfway to the exit.  He backtracked until he found a stand of crates that provided a small sheltered nook.  He placed Isabella down on the ground, maneuvering a box to provide camouflage, and then went to meet the source of the steps.  He honed in as they were coming around a piece of equipment, lashing out and grabbing her, placing a hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out.  The woman's eyes were wide with shock as he held her close.   

            "I don't want to hurt you," he growled into her ear, "but if you yell I will.  Do you understand?"  She nodded eagerly.  He removed his hand from her mouth and allowed her to turn around.   "Where are you going?"

            "H-home," she replied fearfully.

            Bruce motioned with his head towards the office.  "Who is he?"

            "Who?"

            "The man in the suit?  Your boss?"

            "Oh.  I think his name is Reginald."

            "You think?"

            "We're not really close," she said with contempt.

            "How are you involved in this?"

            "This?"

            "Don't play dumb with me.  I don't have the patience for it."  He took one step forward, looming over her.

            "Well, uh, I was hired to pretend to be some rich man's wife."

            "And kidnap his daughter," he finished for her.

            She looked down at the ground in shame.  "He said they wouldn't hurt her.  As long as they pay the money, which they have plenty of.  No one gets hurt."

            "Except for the worry and terror you've caused her parents."

            "I-I-I…Listen I've got a kid of my own, I would never want to cause no one to worry about their baby, but the money was so good."  She sniffled and wiped her hand under her nose, then pushed her glasses up higher.  "We needed to eat."

            "There is legitimate work."

            "Not that pays this good."

            "He's already paid you?"

            "No," she sighed dejectedly.  "Not till after the ransom's been delivered."

            "There isn't going to be any ransom."  She looked up with fear and understanding.

            "You're a cop?"

            He shook his head.  "But there are enough cops surrounding this place, no one is going to get away.  You have two choices, you can help me and give yourself up, or you can wait around for the police to arrest you and you can suffer the same fate as the rest of them."

            Her voice quavered with tears threatening, "But if I give myself up they'll still put me in jail."

            "No, they won't."  He motioned for her to follow him.  He moved the crate and pulled his daughter out from the hiding spot.  The woman gasped.  "You're going to take her outside.  You're only to give her to Commissioner Barbara Gordon.  You're only to speak to Commissioner Barbara Gordon."

            She eyed him suspiciously.  "I don't understand."

            "You had a change of heart.  You want to throw yourself at the mercy of the law, and you will be willing to testify against Reginald and the rest of his people.  The judge will be very lenient with you.  And I assure you Mr. Wayne will be very generous with his reward for your courageous act."

            She considered his words a moment longer and then reached out for the sleeping bundle.  She looked down at her lovingly.  "She really is beautiful."  To Bruce she said, "I just want to see my baby again."

            "You will.  Remember what I said."

            She nodded and he started to walk her towards the front, but she hesitated.  "What do I tell them about you?"

            "You don't."

            "But…?"

            "Go."  He pushed her until she began to walk on her own, and then he melted back into the shadows.

            Reginald Baskerville looked up as the office door opened.  "Sully?" he called.

            "Sully is taking a little nap," the deep voice like the rumble of thunder during a summer storm spoke as a man dressed head to toe in black walked through.

            Reginald looked startled, but only for a split second.  He returned to his usual state of calm indifference.  "And who might you be?" he asked in a voice smoothed and refined by the most exclusive schools across Europe.

            "A friend of the Waynes.  They're not happy right now, and neither am I."  The dark hulk moved closer to the desk.

            "Well," Reginald said placing his hand surreptitiously on the gun holstered to the underside of the desk.  "I'm not sure what that has to do with me."

            The hulk raised a foot and kicked the desk - a very large and heavy piece of wood-crafted furniture, across the room - barely missing Reginald's knee and taking the gun far out of his reach.  Then he reached down and grabbed Reginald by the lapels and lifted him into the air.  "You took her."  The three words were spoken with such a measure of loathing that Reginald felt his belly quiver. 

            "Well old chap, didn't have much of a choice.  I'd gambled everything away," he found himself confessing in the hopes that the big guy would put him down without any undue roughness.  "This cannery here is all that's left of Daddy's generous inheritance.  Nothing personal you see."  He smiled.

            They were so close he could feel the hulk's breath through his dark mask, and Reginald was completely grateful for the covering, envisioning some bestial visage hidden underneath.  "How did you find out about her?"

            "Who, the Wayne kid?  Yeah, they keep her pretty secret, don't they," Reginald chuckled.  Apparently she'd been registered at the school under a false name, no doubt for her own protection.  "Well as luck would have it, I was doing a favor for my sister one day by picking up my niece at her school.  We were walking along to my car when I spot Bruce Wayne and a little girl walking from another direction.  So I ask Tasha, my niece, and she says Isabella's daddy comes every day to pick her up.  Go figure."  He smiled and shook his head in bemusement.  "Then with a little digging, I found out her mother works all the time and rarely shows up at the school, the perfect plan came together."

            Then the hulk just let go.  Reginald fell to the floor painfully.  Without another word the large man turned and walked out.  Reginald sat like that for a moment longer, and then leapt to his feet, prepared to make a hasty getaway.  Unfortunately at that time about fifty cops stormed the warehouse and he had no place to run.


	4. After The Storm

            After changing clothes in the garage, he walked into the house, and went directly to their room.  He sat down on the bed and gently brushed her hair away from her face.  "Mardi," he said.

            Her eyes fluttered.  "Bruce, what time is it?" she slurred, the effects of the sleeping pill not quite out of her system.

            "It's early yet, don't worry."  She sat up and embraced him.  He held her close and waited.  It wouldn't be long now.  He smiled as the phone rang.   "Hello?" he answered and listened as the young officer relayed the news of his daughter's safe return in the early hours of the morning.  "Thank you.  We'll be waiting."  He hung the phone up and looked at his wife.  "That was the police.  They're bringing Isabella home."

            "How?" she breathed.

            "They did their job," he told her.  Then she broke down, allowing herself the luxury of tears she couldn't before.

            Later, she sat at the window seat in Isabella's room just watching the young girl sleep.  She was still under the influence of the drugs, though the doctor assured them she would awaken soon and it would be safer to let her work them out of her system naturally.  The sun had come up and the bright dawn sparkled brilliantly against the ice-covered world.

            Bruce entered the room and walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.  She looked up at him.  "You would have paid, wouldn't you?" she asked him in an odd voice.

            "Of course.  I would have done anything to get her back."

            "You know I never wanted to be a mother," she shook her head.  "But now, if anything happened to her, I don't think I could go on.  I think I would just…stop being."

            "Nothing's ever going to happen to her."

            She shook her head and frowned.  "This all happened because I'm a terrible mother.  I don't spend enough time with her.  If I didn't work so much…"

            "You'd be miserable," he stopped her self-flagellation.  "You love working.  It keeps you independent and happy.  You spend plenty of time with her.  What happened was the result of greed and nothing else.  Don't ever forget that." 

            Just then Isabella started tossing about and called out, "Mommy!"

            Mardi darted up and flew to her side.  "I'm here baby."  She pulled her into her arms.

            "Mommy, I had a bad dream," Isabella cried sleepily.  "I was at school and you picked me up, but it wasn't you and I was so scared."

            "A dream?" Mardi asked, looking across to Bruce, a strange sense of hope on her face.

            Isabella nodded and sat back, wiping her face.  "I know I'm a big girl, dreams can't hurt me."

            "No, sweetheart," Mardi said, caressing her hair.  "Dreams can't hurt you."  She begged Bruce with her eyes."

            He moved closer to the bed.  "That's right."

            "Daddy!"  Isabella jumped to her feet and sprang into his arms.  "Good morning!"

            "Good morning to you to.  Since you are such a big girl, how about some waffles for breakfast?"

            "You're making?  Oh boy!  Wait," her face fell, "what about school?"

            "Well," Mardi said, "there was a bad ice storm last night, and they've cancelled school for the day.  I'm not going into work, either."

            "Really?"

            "Really."

            "Yippee!" she squealed and jumped on the bed.  "Can we go outside and play?"

            "You bet.  Now, I believe the man said something about waffles."

            Isabella hopped down and ran out the door.  Mardi and Bruce followed at a more sedate pace.  He placed his arm around her waist.  "Are you sure it's a good idea to let her believe it was nothing more than a dream?"

            "Instead of a lifetime of fear and self-doubt?  An absolutely spectacular idea.  Please don't fight me on this," she pleaded.

            He kissed the top of her head.  "The ends justify the means?" he murmured into her hair and hugged her closer.

            "Yes," she whispered and he couldn't agree more.

            At the end of the hall Isabella beckoned them.  "Come on!  I'm hungry!"

            "Coming sweetheart."

The end.


End file.
